28: Together Forever

On his way downstairs to take out the trash, Zhou Shurong stopped by a shop selling incense and paper money.

He found Ah Ling’s phone and used her fingerprint to pay—money was no longer an issue. Keeping his promise, he bought incense and candles for the infant ghost, letting her cling to them as she “ate.”

The next afternoon at five, Zhou Shurong received a call from Yongliang, who had just gotten off the train.

Coolly, Zhou rattled off an address—a fast-food joint near the neighborhood. He had no interest in picking some intimate, carefully chosen restaurant for a stranger. Remembering a mediocre fast-food place nearby, he casually settled on it.

He didn’t bother going down early to wait. Yongliang didn’t deserve that. Instead, he cradled the infant ghost and watched TV, only getting up leisurely when the phone rang again.

Yongliang fidgeted in his seat, constantly peering through the glass walls outside. Nearby were Xingfu Community and Ping’an Community—he had no idea which one A-Ling lived in.

A glass of cold water sat on the table. He gulped it down in two or three swallows. When a server approached, he waved them off dismissively. “I’m waiting for someone. We’ll order when everyone’s here.”

Just as he finished speaking, he saw Ah Ling. Under the sunlight, she held a black umbrella, her skin ghostly pale, her frame so thin and frail it seemed she might float away with the wind.

At that moment, a flicker of unease stirred in him.

Watching as her eyes scanned every table in the restaurant, Yongliang raised his hand and called out loudly, “Ling! Over here!”

“Ah Ling” looked over. The man had a plain buzz cut and an air of defeat about him. Her eyes held a cold amusement, her lips moving slightly as if murmuring something.

Yongliang was about to ask her to speak up when he suddenly felt something grip his ankle—and begin crawling upward.

Annoyed, he snapped, “Boss! Keep your damn dog under control!”

He slapped the table, shook his leg, and glared down in disgust.

At the same time, the owner replied, baffled and defensive, “We don’t have a dog!”

Yongliang’s eyes bulged. There was no dog—nothing at all. The crawling sensation had vanished. Weird. He shuddered as he glanced at the other diners.

“Ah Ling” walked toward him slowly, her movements unfamiliar. No, even her demeanor was strange. If he couldn’t see her face, he wouldn’t have recognized her as his ex-wife.

She sat down and smiled leisurely at him. For some reason, he shuddered again.

The server returned. It was only a little past five, still bright outside—too early for dinner. The place only had a few customers, so the server wasn’t busy.

“What would you two like to order?”

Still rattled, Yongliang waved impatiently. “Just give us your specialty combo.”

“Ah Ling” said indifferently, “Anything’s fine.”

The server asked, “Same? The specialty combo?”

“Ah Ling” nodded.

As the server left, Yongliang checked their surroundings. The sparse customers were scattered, all focused on their meals, paying them no attention. He leaned in and whispered urgently, “Ling, have you thought it over? Will you remarry me?”

“Ah Ling” didn’t react. Instead, she pulled a tissue from her bag and meticulously wiped the table.

Yongliang wiped his face and pressed on, almost pleading. “Let’s remarry. I’ll treat you right this time.”

“Ah Ling” finished cleaning the table and removed the earplugs from her ears.

Yongliang: “…”

Still not looking at him, she took a photo from her bag and slid it across the table.

The man frowned the moment he saw it. “What’s this supposed to mean?”

She lifted her gaze, her expression melancholy. “I think… I’m sick. Lately, I keep feeling her crawling onto me, clinging to my neck, sucking my fingers. Sometimes I even hear her call me… Mom.”

A chill ran down his spine. He recalled the earlier illusion and swallowed hard. “D-Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Her eyes, dark and exhausted, locked onto him. “She must be so happy to see her dad after so long. Maybe she’s climbing onto you right now.”

His face twisted in horror as his eyes darted to the floor.

“Don’t bother looking. She’s already back in my arms.”

Yongliang didn’t dare glance at her empty embrace, focusing instead on her numb expression. “Is this why you won’t remarry me?”

She gave a bitter smile. “You want another child. Don’t you think I do too?”

The moment those words left her mouth, Zhou Shurong remembered Ah Ling’s wistful gaze at the neighbor’s twin boys—“Two boys in the family, so lively.”

She reeled in her wandering thoughts and feigned tears. “I wanted a boy so badly.”

That struck a chord in Yongliang. His gaze softened with shared grief.

“How could this happen?” He glared at her stomach. “Why would she haunt you? It’s impossible!”

“How is it impossible? You felt it. I felt it. We can’t both be sick. That makes no sense.”

Yongliang’s eyes darted nervously, his shoe scuffing the floor. It was obvious he wanted to bolt—remarriage was the last thing on his mind now. How could they live together with a vengeful ghost between them?

“Ah Ling” stared at him with tearful eyes, her voice trembling as she poured on the pressure. “Do you think… the reason I couldn’t conceive for three years was because she didn’t want a little brother to be born?”

That sentence was salt rubbed straight into Yongliang’s wound.

The memory of Ah Ling’s unexplained miscarriage made his eyes burn with fury.

Rage consumed him. He shot to his feet and slammed his hands on the table.

“That little monster! I should’ve stabbed her with more needles back then—made sure she never dared come back!!”

The server, holding two specialty combos, froze in stunned silence.

Yongliang noticed the odd looks from other diners and quickly sat back down, forcing a laugh. “We—We were just talking about a movie plot!”

The server set the plates down with a dumbfounded “Oh.”

Before leaving, he gave them a few more wary glances.

As the other customers returned to their meals, Yongliang exhaled in relief and grumbled at “Ah Ling,” “Why’d you pick this place? Why not your place— Huh? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Ah Ling” was staring at him, expressionless.

Needles? So it was needles.

Finally, Zhou Shurong understood. That fleeting glint he’d seen when the infant ghost wailed herself to skin and bones—those were needles driven into her tiny body. So deep they pierced the bone. Only when she cried hard enough to stretch her ribs could he catch a glimpse of the truth.

He dropped the act. A strange smile curled his lips as he met Yongliang’s gaze. Then, in the voice of a “mother,” he called to the infant ghost:

“Sweetheart, go to Daddy. He loves children.”

“W-What are you saying?” Yongliang stammered in terror.

Something was crawling up his body—his thighs, his waist, his shoulders—until finally, a pair of small, icy hands wrapped around his neck.

“AAAAHHHH!!”

He screamed like a madman, thrashing wildly, knocking over chairs and tables. The two combo meals crashed to the floor, carrots and cucumbers smearing into mush under his frantic stomping.

“No! Stay away! It wasn’t me!” He pointed at “Ah Ling” and howled, “It was her! She did all of it—”

Yongliang was the sixth-generation only son. When his mother learned her daughter-in-law had given birth to a girl, her heart sank. She had struggled to conceive even one child, just like Yongliang’s grandmother before her. Terrified that Ah Ling might never bear a son, she wondered—how could they turn this girl into a boy?

Ah Ling, worn down by her husband’s constant nagging, had come to believe that only a son would do. But seven months after the baby’s birth, she still hadn’t conceived again.

One day, the old woman told Yongliang, “I know a secret method. Forty-nine needles over forty-nine days—make her hurt, make her afraid, make her too scared to be reborn here. Then, you’ll get a son. My old friend used this trick. It works!”

The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Ah Ling, rocking her baby to sleep, heard every word.

She bought thin embroidery needles and gazed at her baby, who was giggling with tiny teeth showing. Reluctant but resolute, she whispered through tears, “Baby, you’re a girl… you won’t be happy in this family. Go be reborn somewhere else.”

She repeated those words like a mantra, convincing herself more and more that the child wouldn’t be happy—that she was doing this for her.

Then, she pinched a slender needle and drove it into the baby’s arm.

The child wailed in pain, reaching her little injured arms toward her mother, begging to be held.

Ah Ling cradled her, rocking her gently, and sang a lullaby:

“Sleep, sleep, my darling baby…”

…

The infant ghost was overjoyed. She covered Yongliang’s eyes, then playfully slapped his cheeks. The louder he screamed, the happier she got—she thought this was a game.

Yongliang finally spotted the sunlight outside. The sun was setting, its golden hue about to fade. He bolted for the door.

Zhou Shurong swiftly snatched the infant ghost away.

The restaurant patrons stared in stunned silence, unsure what had just happened. After a moment, the server hesitantly approached. “Should… should we call the police?”

Zhou Shurong nodded slowly. The server turned and dialed.

Then, he looked down at the infant ghost in his arms and smiled. “Good. Now you can see your real mom.”

…

When he woke up that morning, Zhou Shurong had noticed his ghostly form growing stronger. Possessing Ah Ling’s body had allowed him to steadily drain her yang energy.

And Ah Ling? Her body was now saturated with yin energy.

Too little yang, too much yin—it had reached a tipping point.

In short, she could now see ghosts.

The infant ghost had always been by her side. Eventually, Ah Ling would have seen her anyway. Zhou Shurong had simply… sped things up.

Now, he released his hold on Ah Ling’s body.

The infant ghost’s eyes darted to Zhou Shurong, sparkling with curiosity. She clapped her tiny hands, as if applauding his “magic trick”.

…

Ah Ling’s vision blurred as she regained consciousness. She felt something heavy, cold, and soft in her arms—and the faint, babbling cries of a baby in her ears.

She was holding a child.

Whose child? How? And who had saved her? Why couldn’t she just die?

As her vision cleared, the answers came crashing down.

Her gaze locked onto the baby grinning up at her.

“Mama…”

For a moment, she didn’t recognize her.

The last time she’d seen her daughter, the child had been emaciated from pain, unable to eat or sleep. But this baby was plump, with chubby cheeks and bright, glistening eyes…

Yet she knew.

Ah Ling’s face twisted in horror.

She came back… How dare she come back?!

The guilt she once felt was instantly replaced by raw terror.

Her lips trembled, a scream trapped in her throat. She wanted to fling the baby away—but her arms were frozen.

“This… this isn’t real. I’m just sick. She’s not really here—”

“No,” Zhou Shurong whispered in her ear. “She’s here.”

Ah Ling whipped her head toward him, ready to scream—but the server returned, walking straight through Zhou Shurong’s ghostly form.

Seeing her wild expression and strange posture, the server hesitated. “Ma’am… I’ve called the police.”

Ah Ling’s blood ran cold.

The police? Did he know she killed her baby?

No. No, no, NO!

She dropped the infant ghost, clamped her hands over her ears, and fled.

…

For the past week, she’d felt her child’s presence—but she’d blamed her own guilt, her crumbling mind. That was why she’d tried to end her life.

Now? She was too terrified to die.

And far too terrified to face prison.

The infant ghost scurried after her mother, crawling unnaturally fast. Zhou Shurong barely had time to react before the little ghost melted into Ah Ling’s shadow.

His eyes widened. She can hide in shadows?

Then, he smiled.

Good. Now you’ll be together… forever.

…

As Zhou Shurong watched Ah Ling’s oblivious retreating figure, his smile faded.

His gaze snagged on two familiar faces across the street—Qin Yan and Zhou Langxing, strolling side by side.

The setting sun painted the road amber. Trees cast dappled shadows, golden light flickering between the leaves.

When he was alive, crossing this street would’ve taken seconds.

Now, as a ghost? He could blink and be there.

Yet he remained still, watching as Qin Yan and Langxing walked farther away. Only then did he drift forward, gliding past shops, keeping pace with them—always parallel, never intersecting.

Suddenly, Qin Yan stopped. He pointed toward Zhou Shurong’s direction.

“That’s the grilled fish place I told you about— Huh?”

Langxing followed his gaze to the restaurant’s sign. “What’s wrong?”

Qin Yan rubbed his eyes. “Nothing. Thought I saw something.”

For a split second, he’d spotted a faint silhouette by the door—but it vanished when he looked closer.

Zhou Shurong froze. Did Qin Yan just… see me?

Then he remembered—they’d eaten here together before.

Qin Yan and Langxing crossed the street.

Zhou Shurong stood at the entrance, waiting.

As they approached, he stepped aside.

Langxing, unaware of the ghost trailing him, followed the server to a table and plopped down. “Nice, the AC’s right here.”

It was a four-seater. Zhou Shurong sat silently beside Qin Yan.

He listened as they ordered.

“One three-pound sea bass, with potatoes, lotus root, wide noodles— Oh, want anything else?”

Qin Yan shook his head.

Langxing added, “And two Cokes.”

The server left a wooden “Table 3” placard and soon returned with two icy cans.

Langxing cracked one open. “Nice spot. Quiet.”

Qin Yan wiped sweat off his face with a napkin. “Yeah. Pricey, though. Worth it if someone else is paying.”

Langxing chuckled and slid the opened Coke toward him, changing the subject. “So, for Children’s Day—can outsiders visit your kindergarten?”

Qin Yan took a long sip. “You wanna watch the performance?”

“Yeah. Specifically, your performance.”

“Not sure. Parents usually attend, but… Let me ask the principal.”

He pulled out his phone. The tap-tap of his typing made Langxing smile faintly.

Beside them, Zhou Shurong closed his eyes, exhausted.

Soon, Qin Yan put his phone away.

“She said yes. But I have to escort you in. Bring your ID—security checks everyone.”

“That strict?” Langxing compared it to Qin Yan’s lax apartment complex.

“Of course! Gotta keep the kids safe!”

“Got it.” Langxing flashed an OK sign.

As they waited for their food, Qin Yan started watching a show on his phone. Langxing, not wanting to interrupt, stayed quiet.

And Zhou Shurong?

He simply sat there—watching, listening, remembering—until the scent of grilled fish filled the air, and the world moved on without him.

A while later, the Cokes were finished. Langxing half-sprawled across the table and called out in a playful, husky voice, “Hey, Ah Yan!”

Qin Yan looked up.

“Wanna order milk tea?”

“Sure.”

With that little interruption, Qin Yan stopped watching his show. As they waited for the grilled fish and milk tea, they chatted—mostly Langxing chattering away while Qin Yan responded earnestly.

“Did you and my brother come here before?” Langxing now mentioned Zhou Shurong with ease.

“Yeah. He really liked spicy food. Sometimes we’d come two or three times a month.”

Qin Yan’s expression was calm, tinged with nostalgia.

Zhou Shurong opened his eyes and looked at him.

This wasn’t the reaction he wanted.

Humans were selfish by nature. A part of him had hoped Qin Yan would speak of him with unbearable grief—as if he couldn’t live without him, as if he might follow him into death.

But Qin Yan seemed to have moved on, stepping steadily back into the rhythm of life. It was a relief, yet also deeply disappointing.

Had it really been so easy to forget him?

Langxing grinned and pointed at himself. “I love spicy food too. When my mom was pregnant with us, she craved it like crazy. Like, she’d drown every bite of fish in chili powder.”

“My mom loved spicy food when she was pregnant with me too. I think that’s where I got it from.”

“Same.”

“What about your dad?”

“Nah, he likes mild, bland stuff—healthier, you know? But living with us, he’s slowly built up his tolerance.”

Time flew as they talked. The milk tea arrived just as the grilled fish was served, still sizzling on its portable stove. When the server cut open the foil wrapping, the rich aroma burst out, making both Qin Yan and Langxing exclaim, “Smells amazing!”

Zhou Shurong inhaled deeply—but smelled nothing.

His cold eyes reflected the vibrant colors of the living world. He could see, he could hear—but he couldn’t smell, taste, or touch.

Three of his senses were sealed away.

Being a ghost is so hard.

Maybe… I should be a little selfish.

Zhou Shurong tilted his head, resting it lightly against Qin Yan’s shoulder, murmuring, “Should I let you know… I’m right here?”

Qin Yan didn’t hear him, still laughing with Langxing.

Zhou Shurong’s voice trembled slightly. “Would you be scared, like Ah Ling?”

The fish was ready. Qin Yan took a bite—tender, fragrant, perfectly spiced. So good.

Zhou Shurong continued, “You wouldn’t. My death had nothing to do with you. Why would you be afraid of me, right?”

Qin Yan shivered. “It’s a little cold.”

Langxing got up to adjust the AC vent.

Zhou Shurong pulled away, his gaze dimming.

Midway through their meal, the wail of a police siren passed by outside.

“What’s going on?”

“No idea.” Langxing shrugged. “Not our problem.”

…

By the time they finished, the sky had darkened. Zhou Shurong stood plainly visible under the moonlight as they strolled back, mostly silent, enjoying the night breeze.

“The west side isn’t as developed as the east, but the air’s better.”

“More mountains here. The terrain’s trickier, so development’s slower.”

“Fair. Trade-offs, I guess.” Langxing checked the time—almost time to part ways. “Oh, you promised me ‘knock-wontons’ next time. When’s ‘next time’?”

“Right.” Qin Yan side-eyed him. “I owe you a lot, huh?”

“And you said we’d go to the park to pet cats.”

“I remember that. But I’m working now—gotta wait for the weekend.”

“Weekend…” Langxing mused. “June 3rd is Saturday. There’s a friend’s bar opening that night. Wanna go? We can grab late-night snacks after.”

“A bar?” Qin Yan hesitated. “I’ve never been to one. And they’re your friends, not mine.”

“It’s fine. Everyone brings friends. And it’s a chill place, not some loud, smoky dungeon.”

Qin Yan glanced at Langxing’s leg. “Still a bar. Your leg just healed—no drinking.”

Langxing laughed. “They said they’d give me Yakult instead.”

“That’s acceptable.” Qin Yan nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

At 8:30, Langxing’s ride arrived.

“Let me drop you off.”

Qin Yan waved him off. “It’s early. I’ll walk—it’s not far.”

The black car merged into traffic. Qin Yan stopped at a convenience store for a cup of mung bean slush, sipping through a thick straw.

The moonlight was hazy tonight, barely lighting the path. Neon signs, tree lights, and streetlamps did the work instead.

Qin Yan’s shadow stretched long behind him.

Zhou Shurong looked down, lifting his foot to step on it—but his ghostly form passed right through. He looked like he was walking, but he was still floating, never touching the ground.

Hands in his pockets, he quickened his pace until he was walking beside Qin Yan.

Qin Yan stayed quiet, sipping his slush softly. Zhou Shurong didn’t speak either, his expression gentle.

The world around them was lively.

But here, between them, it was quiet.

Zhou Shurong wished this path home could stretch on forever.

After tossing his empty cup, Qin Yan suddenly sat on a public bench and gazed at the stars.

Zhou Shurong gazed at him.

“Your brother said you were the brightest star. Maybe he was right. But tonight… none of them stand out.”

Zhou Shurong looked up. The stars were dim, overshadowed by the moon.

“Where are you? I can’t find you.”

Zhou Shurong’s eyes returned to Qin Yan’s face.

“I’m right here. Beside you. You’d see me if you turned around.”

A silent plea lingered in his heart.

“Do you… really want to see me?”